The Prince of Morley
by JakeShades
Summary: As the plague slowly strangles the great city of Dunwall the Lord Regent's grip on the rest of the Empire is slipping. A young exiled prince, the last of the line of the old Kings of Morley is poised to sail home and reclaim his birthright. In the midst of all this chaos an assassin offer his services to the young prince to rid him of his enemies from the shadows.
1. Storms Brewing

The Prince of Morley

Chapter I, Storms brewing

The warm southern breeze blew in his face as his ship docked in the lagoon. He turned around to see the sun setting in the west making a glittering line along the retracting water behind the ship. In the lagoon there was a small town, one of those secret pirate lairs that existed on the eastern archipelago of Serkonos. Here, scum from all lairs of society could be found; the broken and abandon, the disillusioned navy men and exiled nobles. It was for the latter that he had come here. Prince Liam O'Judge, the self-styled "Prince and rightful heir of Morley" was the one he was looking for. Prince Liam was the last of the line of the Kings of Morley who had ruled for hundreds of years before the rise of the Empire. After Morley was finally subjugated and joined the Empire, the O'Judges were allowed to remain the rulers of the island but merely as Grand Dukes of Morley and no more.

Sixty years ago Liam's Grandfather Grand Duke Willem rose in rebellion against the Empire and declared himself King of Morley like his ancestors, igniting what became known as the Morley Insurrection. In Morley this rebellion was known as the War for Independence. The rebellion was crushed not in small part due to the Gristilian navy who was absolutely unchallenged at sea. Heavily armed Gristilian soldiers stormed the capital of Caulkenny and killed King Willem in a ruthless display of power. The surviving O'Judges fled into exile in Serkonos.

After the O'Judges were deposed and driven into exile, the Empire assumed full control over Morley. A local nobleman was chosen by the invaders to assume the newly created post of Viceroy of Morley. The Viceroy was, however, nothing but a puppet. The real power was held by a high ranking Gristilian military officer that held the title Governor-General of Morley. The position of viceroy only existed so the nobility of the isle wouldn't rebel against the Empire, the proud Morlish nobles would never accept a direct rule of a foreigner.

Now he was here, in this secluded lagoon far from home he was here to offer his services for this final royal runt, to aid him on whatever crazy adventure he might have come up with in his royal, inbred, mind… for a price.

He went off the ship once it docked at the makeshift jetty. He saw men lug off cargo from the ship, all manner of stuff. Fruit, squealing pigs, crates full of rum, whiskey, wine and all sorts of cheap stuff that these pirates drank. He didn't bother think about it and set off for the town. Town might be an overstatement; it was just a bunch of shacks and huts surrounding the only somewhat proper structure of this hole, the tavern. The tavern was called the Black Cat. From the outside he could hear the laughing, the drinking, the fighting and all sorts of other fine activities that men of their line of work indulged themselves with in their pastime, pirates.

"Scum of the earth" a noble man had once told him, "Nothing more than hoodlums and rabble that steal from honest folks half the time and drink the rest!" He only knew too well that this nobleman sat on his highborn ass all day and drank while his poor employees worked their fingers to the bone for scraps. Hypocrisy was something he was used to in his line of work, just barren and lazy reasons to justify the stuff they wanted him to do, bastards. In a way he felt that these pirates were more honest than him and all his like and employers combined. When they went out they prayed on the weak for a profit and drank it away as soon as their ship was docked safely at shore. Most didn't feel remorse for their actions and even fewer of them tried to justify them. They knew what they were doing and they didn't care about the consequences of their actions, they just kept on living day after day, in their own way until they drowned in the endless sea, got their skulls bashed in during a bar fight or hung from the mast of a navy frigate, satisfied with the fact that they had lived their life on their own terms.

He made his way out of the pitiful excuse of a town and started climbing up towards a guard post on the side of the cliff overlooking the harbor. On his way up he glanced at the ships below. There was an odd mix of new and old in the lagoon; wooden ship, steel ship, mast and sails, engines and whale oil, big and small. The pirates weren't picky when it came to the choices of their ships. At the end of the cliff there was a tunnel and two men guarding it. As he approached the guards they were sitting at a table playing a game of Nancy.

"Ha! The royal executioner! Pay up you chauffer!" the big one shouted triumphantly. The smaller man sitting across from him sitting to the side with his legs crossed and his left arm resting on the table with his cards in the left hand and his cup in the other, just cleverly smiled as he looked at his cards and then looked at his companion. He dashed his hand down on the table showing what kind of cards he had. The big guard's jaw dropped as low as humanly possible when he saw what hand the cards formed.

"The Master of Arcane!" the smaller guard said in a sly and devious way. The big guy grunted and fell back in his chair with an angry and disappointed look on his face.

The dark clad stranger cleared his throat to get their attention. Both guards looked his way. The big guard got off his feet so fast that his chair fell back behind him. The big guy got right up in the strangers face, menacingly looking down at him as he was almost a head higher than him.

"Now just what the fuck do you want!" the grunt said as intimidatingly as he could. The stranger studied him for a moment. Tall, muscular and broad shouldered the most stereotypical brain dead wall of meat and muscle he could imagine.

"I'm here to see your boss" he said plainly.

"And what if I told you that the boss don't wanna be disturbed?" the grunt replied.

He started to feel irritated. He hadn't come all this way to get sent away by some dog set to guard the door!

"Back off Hank!" the other guard said behind him.

"But I…" the big guy started.

"I said back off Hank! Go sit down and have yourself a swig of rum you meathead!"

The big guy called Hank went and picked up his chair and sat down on it with a grumpy and irritated look on his face.

"Pardon my partner" the other guard said in a surprisingly polite way. "He's just like that, see? You gotta look a little intimidating to ward off all the beggar children that come this way. Now why have you come here?"

"I'm here to see your boss!" the stranger repeated irritated.

"Yeah I hear you say that but what makes you think that I'll just let you in?" the guard replied.

The man put a piece of paper in the guards face. The guard took the paper and read it, looked up to study the man in front of him and read the piece of paper again.

"I see" he finally said. "Follow me. Hank watch the entrance and don't try to club anyone down while I'm gone won't you?" Hank just grunted as a reply.

The stranger and the guard went into the tunnel entrance. The sun had already set and the only light in the tunnel was the torches and the guard's lantern. The steps went downward into the cliff. The man wondered to himself how the headquarters of the "Prince of Morley" looked like; was the prince hiding in a cave in some rock off Serkonos or was it some more hiding deep beneath.

He heard voices at the end of the tunnel and as he got closer he heard working of hammering and machinery. It triggered his curiosity; what was hidden deep in the cliff side. When they got to the end of the tunnel they were greeted by a bright light. Momentarily blinded, the stranger put his hand in front of his face to block the light. When his sight turned normal he was awestruck.

Deep into the cliff of this Serkonan rock there was a large cove, in the end of the cove there was an exit big enough for a ship to use but that wasn't the impressive part. All around the cove there were machinery, workers, men discussing and arguing and loads of weapons. Swords, pistols, rifles, armor and large compound bows that he had seen the tallboys use in Dunwall. But the most impressive part was in the middle of the cove, in the water. In the water there was a large ship, not like the ones in the harbor in the lagoon, this was a serious ship, one of those big destroyers you found in the dockyards of the navy. The ship was clad in iron, it was obviously engine powered but it had two masts, one on the forward part and one in front of the stern where the elevated command deck was. In the middle of the ship there was a huge engine part that dominated the central part of the ship. The ship had cannons blistering along its port and starboard side but the most impressive part was two large cannons on the bow of the ship in a rotating turret.

His gaze wandered to the very stern of the ship where the large windows of the captain's quarters were. Above the windows he saw the name of the ship in black letters surrounded by golden oaken leaf engravings. The name was a strange one; he had seen all sorts of ship names before in his travels, often boasts like _Vengeance, Obliterator_ and _Executor_, or a woman's name like _Martha, Lily _and _Anna_ or a combination of the two put together but he had never seen a name like this, a single ominous message _The Sins of the Fathers_. The name puzzled him for a moment before the guard dunked him in his shoulder.

"It's time to move" he said "let's go see the prince."

The two moved through the crowd, there were at least a hundred people in the cove as he could see. They made their way towards the ship and climbed onto the large dock that the ship was docked at. They moved aboard the ship, the wooden floor made a thud as they jumped aboard. Sailors climbed the rigging and did chores around the mighty ship. Gunmen cleaned the cannons, deck boys scrubbed the deck and officers moved about, shouting orders to the men.

The two made their way to the back of the ship where the entrance the captain's quarters was.

"I'm afraid I have to take your weapons" the guard said pointing at the weapons belt around the stranger's waist.

"Very well" he replied slightly puzzled, the abnormal politeness that was shown in a pirate den in Serkonos confused him.

"This way please" the guard said after handing the weapons to a guard near the door.

"…the squadron need to move on Wynnedown at once and then towards Freaport."

"No admiral, the fleet must take Alba and move into the Straight of Gristol, Caulkenny needs to be blockaded before reinforcements from Gristol can be brought in."

"Your Highness, there is a large chance for the fleet to be intercepted by the Imperial Navy if it remains near Caulkenny for too long."

"The closest Navy base to Caulkenny is in Driscol, south of Alba, they will not attempt to move at the blockade as long as the city and its coastal guns are in our hands."

"Assuming, of course that they are still functional after we capture the city."

Two men were discussing at a table. From where he stood he could see small figures on the table but nothing certain could be seen from there. The guard cleared his throat to get the men's attention.

"Your Highness, Admiral, I present to you the Assassin you sent for." The two men studied the stranger clad in black for a moment. One of the men wore a green coat with a blue and red vest under. He had black hair and a scarred face, no doubt gained from many an adventure at sea, but the man standing next to him was more impressive. The young man standing next to the officer had golden brown hair and a carefully trimmed beard. His uniform was a spotless white one with golden stripes along the sewing lines of the uniform. His eyes, however, were hard to describe, they were green with a hint of brown, giving it a greenish hazel color. They gleamed with a young wisdom and stubborn determination as he looked the dark stranger in the eyes.

"Very good then, leave us." The young man said to the guard, the guard placed his right fist on his chest and bowed before turning around and walked out the door.

"So you are the famous assassin that I have been hearing so much about? Forgive me sir but I seem to have failed to catch your name." the young man said to the man in black. The man looked at him for a few tense seconds before opening his mouth to utter a single word:

"Slar"

"Hmpf, now what kind of name is that?" the officer next to him asked condescendingly.

"Quiet Admiral!" the young man snapped at the officer.

"Sorry, Your Highness." The officer said bending his head. The young man gave the officer a stern face before walking over to the assassin to stretch his hand out. "A pleasure to meet you Slar, I'm Liam O'Judge." Slar looked at the hand for a second before conceding and grabbing it.

"A strong grip, I like that." The Prince said.

"A loose grip can't kill a man, Your Highness" Slar replied.

"Ha ha, no it can't!" the Prince was clearly amused by the assassin's remark. "Now to business." The Prince turned and walked back to the table. Slar followed him and placed himself on the other side of the table, now he could see why the small figures were on the table. On the table there was a map, or rather the table _was_ the map, a map of the Isles about two and a half times one and a half meters large. The figures were those of ships and soldiers, kind of like small toy soldiers. They were placed around the Isles, representing military forces. Red colored ships were placed around the Isles of Gristol and Morley, and red soldiers were placed on Morley itself. Just on the waters around south off the capital city of Dunwall there were several yellow ships representing the blockade that the other nations of the Empire had forced upon the city to prevent the rampant plague that had fallen upon the city from spreading to the rest of the Isles.

Slar was standing on the northern end of the map, where Tyvia was located, the Prince and the admiral was standing on the southern side where Serkonos was located. At the archipelago stretching out from the east coast of Serkonos, there was a collection of green ships.

"Now Slar" the Prince said, "your mission will be one of utmost importance." The Prince used a stick the men of high command used to move forces around on big maps to shove all of the green ships towards Morley, "My plans are simple, land my men on Morley, reclaim my birthright and liberate my people, but for that I need a foothold from where to reconquer it." The Prince pointed at the southern tip of the Isle "Alba is where the invasion starts. If we can take the city and the coastal battery that is located there intact we will control the entire shipping traffic coming south into the Straight of Gristol." Slar took a look around the room. The walls were decorated with a thick tapestry of maps, plans and portraits of men and women, some of whom had darts thrown at them.

"Give me the map of Alba." The Prince ordered. One of the guards in the room took a map down from the wall and placed on the table. The map showed the city schematics (streets, docks, landmarks you name it). The city and the harbor was placed strategically in a large bay, the entrance to the harbor was nothing more than a kilometer wide facing south. On the western cliff, overlooking the entrance and the harbor, there was a big fort.

"It is there where the coastal battery is located." The Prince said. Slar studied the map carefully. The fort had most of its walls located towards the cliff with only a narrow wall facing inland as the primary way of entry. The fort was in no doubt built to have any attacker to pay a terrible price for takeing the city and the fort.

"The fort will be too hard a nut to crack if a conventional assault is to be mounted." The Prince said with a sigh "But there is one flaw they didn't take into account however." The Prince pointed towards the eastern side of the fort "There is a storm drain which goes all the way down to sea level and it is accessible at the low tide at night, you will strike at that moment!" Slar was skeptical to the idea; a storm drain isn't the safest way to make an entry, even if it had to be a subtle entry. The climb would probably be a long one considering the height between sea level and the top of the cliff, not to mention the risk of being flushed back out again like he was some night shift guard's shit.

"How high is it between sea level and the top of the cliff?" Slar asked.

"About fifty to seventy five meters." The Admiral replied.

"Yes, Admiral Fairway once served at that fort. His intimate knowledge of the fort will serve us well." The Prince said.

"Yes. The plan is for you to enter the fort and open the gates for a landing party to storm in and secure the fort." Admiral Fairway said "Once past the storm drains the task should be relatively straight forward, you only have to get past the barracks and the courtyard to the gate, then you must aid the landing party take the fort. Once the fort and the coastal battery are secure you must signal the fleet and we will take it from there." The plan seemed well enough thought out but one thing kept nagging Slar's mind; how big a fleet and an army could an exiled prince and a disgraced admiral, who by the look of his age wasn't an admiral at all but had been elevated to that role by his prince, could possibly hope to muster. He was impressed by the ship that they currently were present on but how many of these could he produce when he knew that the Navy had dozens of ships like it.

After the briefing, Slar was shown to his quarters. The officer quarters were right underneath the war room and Slar was shown to one of them. The room was small and simple; only a bed, a trunk and a small table. Slar sat down at the table to sort out his gear; he'd had his gear returned to him after the briefing. Once satisfied that all his stuff was still in his possession he laid his satchel in the trunk for safekeeping. Before he closed the trunk he pulled a small picture out of the satchel. Slar sat back down on the chair and looked at it for a long time.

He knew the picture; he knew every detail of it, he'd had it for so long, ever since…no, he didn't want to think about that right now. He put the picture in an internal breast pocket in his coat, close to his heart, and laid down on the bed to sleep. At first light the vessel would cast off and make for the rendezvous point to meet with the rest of the fleet. Slar had to admit to himself that he was a little excited to see what this fleet would comprise of.

* * *

Slar woke up to sound of boots tramping on the deck above him. Still drowsed from the sleep, he dragged himself out of the bed and looked out the porthole. It was already very sunny outside. Slar lost his balance and fell back into his bed. Startled, Slar wondered if he lost his balance because of his tiredness or the rocking of the ship. He got back to his feet and confirmed his suspicion; the ship was definitely out in the open sea. Slar composed himself, got dressed and left his quarters to get back onto the deck.

The deck was teeming with life. The sailors were working all over the ship; climbing the rigging, scrubbing the deck and tinkering with the monstrous engine block that occupied a large part of the mid deck. Slar climbed onto the command deck, there he saw the Prince. The Prince was standing in front of the driver's cabin dressed in his white uniform which shone even brighter in the sunlight. The prince was looking ahead, studying his men intently as they did their work. He turned towards Slar when he saw him making his way up the stairway.

"Ah… there you are! How was your sleep, sir?" the Prince asked in friendly manner.

"Good, Your Highness." The assassin replied.

"Good, good. Will you walk with me?" the Prince winked for him to follow. The two men started walking down the stairs back onto the main deck. They looked rather contrasting as they walked; the prince in his bright white uniform and the assassin in his dark clothes.

"We will be at the rendezvous point soon, I am sure you are interested in knowing how sizable a force I do command?" the Prince said, walking with his hands behind his back and his head held high as he admired the work of his men.

"I have to admit, Your Highness that I'm very interested in what kind of force you have been able to muster." Slar said as he was walking alongside the prince in a regular manner.

"Well my dear sir, you would be surprised with how many a man the name O'Judge can call upon when the need arises…" The Prince interrupted himself to help a sailor tie up a knot which the sailor was struggling with. Once done, the Prince smiled at the sailor and shucked his shoulder before telling him to get on with his work. The sailor climbed back up into the rigging with the Prince looking after him for moment before resuming his conversation with Slar.

"So as I was saying. I have sailed the seas all my life, the sea is in my blood! I have sailed with all manner of "scum" as the Lord Regent call them and honestly many of them are good people that are forced into a bad situation by circumstances beyond their control. Surely they aren't all good but they aren't all bad either."

"I didn't expect a man of your status to associate yourself with us down on the bottom of the ladder." Slar remarked.

"Ha ha, you would think so!" the prince said laughing "My father taught me that arrogance is the roots to a man's downfall. My grandfather, blessed be his memory, was a fool to rise up against the Empire when it was at the power level it was on at the time."

"And now you are going to do the exact same thing?"

"Now it's different! The fair Empress is dead and soon the great city of Dunwall will be nothing more than rats and corpses! This Empire that has lasted for hundreds of years is on the verge of collapsing in on itself! The Lord Regent's power is slipping and now it is only to kick in the door and the pillars that have been weakened by the hordes of hungry rats will come crashing down! And out of the ashes the people of Morley will rise like the phoenix once again and reclaim their freedom and independence!" By the time the Prince had finished his speech, the two men had gotten to the bow of the ship. They stood beneath the mighty turret and looked ahead. In front of them there was a large assembly of ships anchored up close to a small island. Slar counted them and in the end he concluded with there been at least thirty ships. The ships were in all shapes and sizes. There were smaller wooden vessels used by pirates for quick hit and run attacks and larger steel ships with guns bristling along their sides, there were even a few converted whaling ships among the ranks. Suddenly cannon shots were heard. Slar quickly took cover alongside the railing and dragged the Prince with him.

"It's alright my friend, these men won't harm us" the Prince said laughing. Slar looked up and saw flags being raised in the ships' masts and heard cheering from thousands of men. The cannon shots were clearly not meant for aggressive actions but as salutes, salutes for the prince. The flags were a tricolor flag; blue, green and red from left to right. In the center green field there was a red shield with a golden crown over it flanked by two standing golden lions. Written on the shield were two letters in gold: L and O, Liam O'Judge. Once _The Sins of the Father_ had joined the rest of the fleet, the Prince ordered all ships to gather around it. Once all ships were in positions around _The Sins_, the Prince climbed onto the command deck and looked over the vast crowd of men and ships that had gathered around him. A complete silence had descended over the gathering as the Prince opened his mouth.

"Brothers!" the Prince's voice rang through the ranks "We have been outcasts all our lives! We have been shunned and spat on by the so called leaders of our own country! They call us traitors! Cutthroats! Pirates! Today is the day that all that changes! We are united together for this noble crusade! We will sail home to Morley and we will free our brothers and sisters from the tyranny that has driven us from our homes and our families! We will bring the swift blade of justice to those who wronged us! We will force the corrupt and the decadent out of their homes and toss them out into the cold! We will bring our people freedom! And as long as there is air in my lungs and my heart beats I will never surrender! Brothers! We sail for Morley!" A huge cheer spread through the ranks as the Prince finished his speech and the sailors started chanting "Morley! Morley!"

In the middle of the crowd onboard _The Sins of the Father_ was Slar. He watched as the Prince chant with his men and could not help but think to himself: "What have I gotten myself into?" That night the fleet sailed off with its course poised northwards to Morley.


	2. Rains of Alba

The Prince of Morley

Chapter II

The rains of Alba

**Author's notes:**

**Firstly: sorry for taking so long to get this up. It was not because I had some bullshit writing block or something, it's just because I'm a lazy asshole who sit on his ass and watches TV series on his laptop while he should be writing a story. Anyways here it is so enjoy.**

* * *

The boy was sitting out in the valley watching the herd of his family. His homeland was not particularly known for its pleasant summer weather but this day was a welcome exception. The sun was standing high and warming as he sat there on a rock on the hillside. He could feel the soft cool breeze on his face which blew through grass and the white leaved trees making a soft familiar rustling sound. The whispering of the trees they called it. Centuries ago the wise men listened to sound of the trees whispering without words and the talking of the voiceless streams. They spoke to the wise men; they guided them and showed them the tools of knowledge and understanding. The people listened to the wise men and the wise men listened to the land… until the Empire came and the Abbey with them who burned them as heretics.

The young boy remembered the stories; he had heard them all when he was little from all the old crones of the village. As he sat there on a rock down in the valley he looked up behind him up above to the towering mountains, the peeks of which was normally shrouded in clouds but was now visible. He looked back down to the valley and at its fields, forests and streams and wondered to himself; what if the land was still trying to contact them. What if the land was still yelling their low voiceless cries at man, begging them to listen? But the wise men were gone and no one listened to the voiceless whispers of the land anymore.

The boy laid back down on the rock and looked up at the blue sky. Only a few small clouds were moving across the limitless sky. He closed his eyes and thought about the sea. He had only seen it once when he was with his grandfather on a trip to a port to sell some pelts that they had collected from the animals they had hunted. He remembered seeing the endless blue sea as they came over a hill. He saw a hundred small white stripes lining on the water and then disappearing only to appear in a different place. He remembered seeing the huge ships coming and going out of the port and dreamt that one day he would be sailing onboard one of those ships. But that were all they were, dreams. He was needed where he was, at home. He had just turned thirteen and he was a man now so he had to accept the responsibilities that were placed upon him.

He suddenly heard a loud bang in the distance and opened his eyes, the sky had turned dark. He looked up and saw black smoke coming from the distance, from his home. He immediately started running. He was scared, what had happened? A fire in a barn, no it was too much smoke to be just the barn. Maybe it was the tavern? As he got closer he heard screaming and clinging of blades. He ran up the final hill overlooking the village, his pulse was pounding. Once on the top of the hill he saw his village burning, every single house. The smithy was burning, the stable was burning and even the little outhouse was burning. He ran into the village, there was chaos everywhere. Women were running with their children in their arms and men with swords were charging into the smoke from where fighting could be heard.

"Restrict the wandering gaze witch looks hither and yonder!" he could hear chanting from the smoke. "Restrict the lying tongue that is like a spark in a man's mouth!" he heard more chanting as he ran into the smoke.

"Brother…" He heard a familiar voice near him and through the smoke he saw his sister, his sweet little sister. She was barely eight years old, she looked pale and there was blood on her face. Her white hair looked even whiter because of her pale face. He looked at her chest and saw a cold steel serpent spouting out of it before being withdrawn. She fell to her knees, never taking her gaze off him.

"I feel… cold." She said with a weak voice as blood poured from her mouth. He ran to her and held her as she fell to the ground. He looked into her eyes; they were blank and didn't move, she was dead, his sweet sister was dead. Tears came streaming out of his eyes. A shadow loomed over him as he cried over his sister's corpse. He looked up to see a hideous golden mask holding the bloody steel serpentine.

Slar woke up in a haze. He was panting and drenched in sweat, nightmares. They were getting worse. Ever since he took this damned job he had been haunted by memories long repressed. He had tried not to think about it but there was something that he couldn't quite explain that made him think about what he did, what he had done and what he was going to do. Some fresh air might help, he thought. It was still night and there was very dark. He lit a lantern in his room and walked out into the hallway to get to the deck. The hallway was dark; there was no light in this hour. There was very few people on deck; just a couple of guys who were assigned to the night shift. Slar walked to the port side railing and looked at the other ships of the Prince's fleet sailing right next to and behind the ship. He could only see the lanterns of the ships. The only movements onboard the ships were small lights moving about; it was the night watch on the other ships as well.

Slar decided to go the bow of the ship to see if he could see something in the horizon. He walked by two drowsy watchmen siting by a barrel. One of the men had a bottle of rum in his hand and looked very sleepy; the other was trying to keep his companion awake so he didn't have to sit on watch alone. Slar continued towards the bow. As he walked onto to the bow he looked at the massive turret and stopped to admire it for a moment.

"Impressive isn't it?" Slar was surprised to hear a voice from the bow. In the darkness he could just barely make out the appearance of the man in the shadow, it was the Admiral.

"Yes it truly is," Slar responded.

"A single well placed hit is enough to cut a small schooner in two. I'm sorry but we haven't formally been introduced, Admiral Thimothy Fairway." The Admiral stretched out his hand to the assassin who grabbed it after a short pause.

"Well His Highness is right; you do have a strong grip." The Admiral said with a chuckle. The two men placed themselves at the very front of the ships and looked out towards the horizon.

"When will we reach Morley?" the assassin asked.

"Tomorrow night," the Admiral answered.

"How is it there?"

"It's the land of a talented, dedicated and cheerful people who fought teeth and claw for their independence!" the Admiral said proudly.

"And lost." The assassin added the admiral looked at him angrily for a moment before conceding.

"Yes we did." The admiral agreed sadly. "My grandfather died on these seas. He was blown up by a navy ship as he was trying to bring supplies into Caulkenny." The admiral looked sadly at the sea and sighed.

"We never stood a chance."

"And what makes you think it will be different this time?"

"They are weak now and they aren't prepared. Once we make landfall the people will rise up against the Empire and join us in ridding our Isle of the Gristilian scum!"

The two men stood in silence for a few minutes before the Admiral took his leave and made for the officers' quarters. Tomorrow night, Slar thought. Slar stood there for several minutes before he realized how tired he was and too left for his quarters. On his way back to his quarters he passed the two watchmen who had both fallen asleep, one with his head on the others shoulder. Slar climbed back below deck to the officers' quarters. The dim light of Slar's lantern gave a gloomy yellow glove in the hallway. He slipped quietly into his quarters, extinguished the lantern, laid down on the bed and closed his eyes. Slar couldn't sleep for the rest of that night; he just laid there and stared at the ceiling. After many sleepless hours dawn finally broke. Slar didn't bother getting out of his bed and just laid there. He listened to the thumping of boots, the screeching of the ship and the muffled voices from the deck. After hours of indifferent boredom, Slar finally fell asleep.

Slar was woken by knocking on the door. The drowsy assassin dragged himself out of his bed and moved to the door. Outside two guards stood waiting.

"His Highness requests your presence in the war room, sir." One of the guards said.

"Very well, I will be there shortly." Slar said to the guards.

Slar closed the door and lit a lantern so he could see what he was doing, night had come and all was dark. A flash of lighting briefly lightened the room before he could light the lantern. Slar took a bucket of seawater and poured it over himself so he could be fully roused. After the salty awakening Slar cleaned and dressed himself. A few minutes later Slar was outside the war room, two green coated guards were standing at attention by the door. Upon entering the war room, Slar saw the prince, the admiral and several other officers standing around the table, several maps had been laid out over the large map of The Isles, maps of Alba.

"Ah Slar, it is good to see you," the Admiral started.

"Yes, your mission starts tonight. We are right on the coast off Alba. The only thing now is to capture those guns before the invasion can commence." The Prince said, "We are in luck, the storm will give us the perfect cover, they will never see us coming!" The storm might not be too much of a problem for the larger vessels of the fleet to handle but Slar had to get close to the cliff without his boat being smashed against it. The thought of being sucked down with the undercurrents to a watery grave sent a chill down the assassin's spine.

"The landing party is ready. All our hope is riding on you my friend don't let me down." The Prince concluded.

Slar went back to his quarters to ready his gear. Slar found his sword. It was a short single edged sword, light and versatile, perfect for getting through tight places and slitting people's throats. Slar had four small double edged razor sharp daggers perfectly balanced for throwing or close quarter assassination tucked into small holsters on his chest. He had a small satchel hanging on his side with special concussion grenades that would explode in a bright flash that would blind anyone in the vicinity. In addition to these gadgets he had a few small foot traps based on those used to hunt bears from his homeland. Upon stepping on the center of the trap two sharp jaws would be sprung from either sides of the trap and boar its way into the unfortunate victim's leg, either immobilizing them or slow them down severely. But his pride and joy was his special wrist mounted crossbow. The crossbow had a special auto-reloading system that utilized the recoil from the fired projectile to load another. The crossbow had three interchangeable magazines running along his forearm for regular bolts, darts with a special toxin that would put the target to sleep, and for emergencies he had bolts loaded with volatile whale oil that would explode on impact. For the especially hard to get targets he had a few darts loaded with a rare poison from the deadly Pandyssian Black Viper that could kill a grown man in seconds. Should everything else fail him he had two hidden blades on the tip of his boots to surprise his captors, and of course a knife in his boot, one can never beat a classic. Slar dressed himself in all black with a tight black tricot under his dark cloak and hood; a black bandana concealed his face only exposing his eyes and the area around them. The assassin was now ready. He walked out of his quarters and headed for the upper deck.

There was much activity on the deck; everyone were preparing for the invasion. Sailors ran around the deck, preparing the cannons, securing the rigging and moving small arms and swords around. All this had to be done in near complete darkness and the rain wasn't helping the visibility. In the middle of the deck stood around thirty soldiers armed and standing at attention as an officer was informing them of their orders, they were the landing party, or at least part of it, which would help secure the fort once Slar got the gates open. Slar walked to the railing to look ahead. He could faintly see light in the horizon. It was the city of Alba, they had reached Morley.

Slar looked towards the command deck and saw the Prince standing there observing his men. He was wearing a green raincoat over his white uniform. He didn't wear a hat or a hood so his golden brown hair and beard was soaked in rain but he still had that determined look on his face as he stared ahead at his homeland that he had never known. Slar had never liked nobles much but there was something about this young prince that genuinely impressed him. He was saying that he wanted to liberate his people and reclaim his birthright. It remained to be seen if he was only focused on the latter and the former was just the same bullshit justifications that Slar had heard a hundred times from the nobles that had employed him. Slar however felt that something was different about this one; he seemed genuinely concerned for his people.

The Prince's gaze met the assassin's. The Prince gave him a silent nod to signal him to start the operation. Slar turned around and walked to a waiting boat hanging off the side of the ship, a waiting man was standing there.

"Well alright matey, let's be going then." The boatman said and climbed into the vessel. Slar climbed in right behind him. The boatman sat on the back of the boat near the steering handle, Slar placed himself across from him. The boat was winched down into the unruly water and was released. The boatman started the puttering engine and steered the vessel towards Alba.

"This is it assassin. The moment of truth." The boatman said as he maneuvered the vessel between the towering waves. A flash of lightning struck and lit the boatman's face. Slar recognized him; he was the same guard that he had met outside the cave in Serkonos, the same guard that had lead him through the tunnels to the prince's ship.

"So we meet again," Slar said to the boatman.

"Yes we do. I wasn't sure you would recognize me, since you have been colluding with the Prince and all them higher ups and all." The boatman answered.

"I never forget a face."

The two looked ahead towards the cliff; the fortress was visible on the top of it. The roaring waves smashed against the cliffside and left a wall of white foam falling back into the waves, kind of like the foam from a freshly tapped glass of beer.

"Steady as she goes! We don't want those waves to swallow us won't we?" Slar said as loud as he could.

"Don't worry mate, I will lead us safely through this watery gauntlet." The boatman confidently answered.

The boat closed in on the cliff; Slar could see the storm drain sticking out of its side. The waves, now up to two meters high, hit just short of the drain itself, this had to be timed very correctly.

"Get me as close as you can." Slar yelled over the storm. The boatman steered the boat with its portside towards the drain. A wave took the boat and moved it towards the drain and the cliff in a terrifying speed. The boat was just a few meters away from the drain now.

"Now!" the boatman yelled and Slar lounged himself from the boat. The moment felt like an eternity as he flew through the rain towards the drain. The boat had started to descend just as he jumped; he hoped he still had enough momentum to reach the drain. Just as it seemed he was going to miss the jump and fall down into the unforgiving waves, he managed to get a firm grip around the very slippery end of the drain. Slar managed to drag himself into the drain just before a huge wave grazed the bottom of it.

"Good luck mate, all hopes riding on you!" he could faintly hear through the storm as the boatman sailed off. Now for the fun part, Slar thought to himself as he moved through the drain. The drain was big enough for him to walk crouched through with little problem; the only problem was to keep his footing in the slippery drain. He reached the other end of the drain and stared up into a long shaft reaching towards the surface. The metal in the shaft was covered by a thick green slick from all the water. Slar readied on of the special abilities of his wristbow; a built in grappling hook. Slar took aim and fired the hook up the shaft; the hook hit the top and was tightly secured. Slar hooked the line into his belt, placed his boot against the slick covered wall and started climbing. The shaft was a good fifty meters high so it was a long and difficult climb up the slippery wall. He was only a scant ten meters from the top when he heard something that made his bones chill.

"Ho there! We are standing to our knees in water here. Open the drain." The voice came from the top. Slar could hear the crumbling sound of a large metal gate being opened. In just a few seconds the water would come streaming down the drain and Slar would be flushed back out into the stormy sea. Slar climbed as if possessed towards the top but knew that he would never reach it in time, and what good would it do anyway? He would just be flushed out by the water coming from the top. Then he saw something that could be his salvation; a small service vent just big enough for someone to hide in, was just a meter above his head. Slar climbed even faster now that he heard the water starting to stream through the drain. Slar managed to climb into the vent just before the grey water came thundering down the shaft. He sat with his back against the wall, resting his head against it before breathing a sigh of relief.

"I hate water!" he mumbled to himself as the water fell down the drain for a couple of more minutes. After the stream of water finished he could hear the metal door being closed again. Slar poked his head out and looked up; the grappling hook had been flushed down with water. No way up there, he thought and turned around to see where the vent would lead him. Slar, to his relief, found that the vent went further into the fort. After a few minutes he reached a rusty grate in the end of the vent. Slar carefully removed the grate and crept quietly out of the vent. Slar found himself behind some crates and quietly climbed on top of them to get a better view of the situation. He laid down on the crate and crawled to the end of it. He was in the inner courtyard; the ammunition chamber and the cannon battery was here. Slar quietly sneaked down and onto the ground to avoid anyone from seeing him. He needed to get on the battlements so he could sneak to the outer gate. There were several red coated Gristilian guards patrolling the grounds; he had to be careful and not alert them. Slar sneaked towards the staircase leading up onto the battlements. He hid in the shadows next to the staircase and waited for a guard to get down the stairs. The guard turned once down the stairs and walked towards where Slar was hiding. Slar sneaked deeper into the shadows and waited for the guard to pass by him. He quickly jumped out of hiding and grabbed the guard in a chokehold from behind and dragged him back into the shadows. Once the guard stopped resisting and slipped into unconsciousness, Slar gently placed the guard on the ground out of site.

Slar moved to the edge of the shadows beneath the stairs. The coast was clear. Slar swiftly and quietly moved up the stairs and was on the battlements. There was a small jump of about three meters between the battlements of the inner and the outer courtyard. Slar jumped down onto the battlements of the outer courtyard and took cover behind a crate. Two guards were standing on the battlements talking. Slar remained hidden and listened to what they were saying.

"Have you heard that the guy who killed the Empress got out of Coldridge?" one of the guards said.

"What did they release him?" the other asked.

"Yeah they just let the guy that shoved a blade into the Empress that he had sworn to protect and kidnapped her daughter. They just told him to behave himself next time. What do you think dumbass?!"

"Ok, ok asshole but how'd he get out?"

"I read the report. One moment all were fine and dandy, nothing unusual was going on and then BOOM! The front gate blew up. Every guard on watch was put on high alert; no one had seen anyone escape. When they did a headcount on the prisoners they found the Lord Protector's cell empty, well partially empty, one of the guards was laying unconsciousness there with a goodbye note on him!

"Hmpf, that's a bold move."

"That's not the strangest part; no one fucking died! Some of the guards were missing but they were quickly found unconscious hidden in dumpsters and other shit, some of the guys even turned up by themselves, claiming that some guy attacked them from behind."

"Well shit! But they must have looked for him or at least seen him."

"He most likely escaped into the sewers but the guys that were there didn't see or hear anything."

"And when did all this happen?"

"Just four days ago. I'm telling you, the Lord Regent is pretty anxious to recapture him."

"Yeah he should be. Personally I don't believe that Corvo did it though."

"Then who else could do it?"

"I dunno but probably someone with some serious connections though, doesn't really make much sense that the Empress' personal bodyguard would kill her."

"Maybe, damned I'm hungry! Wanna get something to eat."

"Yeah sure let's go." The two guards passed dangerously close to the crate Slar was hiding behind. Slar made himself as small as he could and crouched into the corner. The guards walked past and down the stairs they went. Slar got out from behind the crate and moved swiftly across the battlements. When moving along the battlements he noticed something that could complicate the mission. Out in the middle of the courtyard there was one of those automated watchtowers. The large metal tower rotated around and peered with its giant spotlight into the shadows. The tower was facing the gate; the landing party would be massacred if they stormed through the gate with that thing still operational. Slar looked around for options. Somehow he had to put that thing down without alerting the entire fort. Slar looked at the high wall dividing the inner and outer courtyards. There were two banners hanging down above the gate to the inner courtyard.

That's it! Slar thought and ran towards the wall. As he ran he came across an obstacle; a lone guard was standing watch on the wall in front of him. There was no time. Slar quickly stormed the guard and slit his throat before he even realized what was happening. Unable to scream, Slar threw him over the battlements and kept moving. As Slar came close to the pole and the banner, he jumped from the battlements towards the courtyard. In midair, Slar activated his grappling hook and fired it at the pole holding the banner. The hook connected and Slar used the momentum from the jump and swung around and lounged himself towards the watchtower. There was still a large gap between him and the tower but it was the only way. When he was as close to the tower as the line could allow, he disconnected and flew the last meters to the tower. He reached it and took a firm grip around the railing on the control platform. Slar lifted himself up onto it. He had some experience with equipment like these. The very rich or the very powerful, often one and the same, which often were his targets, usually used some Sokolov technology at their compounds. The trick was to find the whale oil tank somewhere on the apparatus. Slar opened the cabinet holding the tank. With a careful move he removed the tank. Right next to the cabinet there was the control panel for the tower. Slar thought of the terrible impracticality of shutting the thing down if it should malfunction.

"Hey what's up? The tower's not working!" a voice came from below.

"Hey who's up there? Sound the alarm, Intruder!" Ah shit, Slar thought and jumped down from the deactivated tower.

"There he is! Stop him, fire!" several shots rang and flew right past the assassin. Slar turned and threw one of his flash grenades at the group of guards shooting at him, blinding and disorienting them. The gate, he thought, he had to get to the gate. He plunged his sword into the chest of a guard between him and the entrance to the gatehouse. Two guards stormed out of the gatehouse pistols in hands. Slar used the corpse of his recently slayed victim as a meat shield against the bullets. Sticking his arm out from behind the dead man he fired two bolts swiftly from his wristbow, hitting one of the guards in the neck and the other got pinned to the wall by the bolt hitting him in the shoulder. As the guard struggled to get off the wall he was knocked out by Slar as he ran past with a fist to the face. As he ran through the hallway to the gate control room a guard came lounging at him sword drawn. Slar quickly countered his lash and kneed him in the stomach. He finished the guard off with a stab through the back of his neck as he stood bent over.

Slar ran into the gate control room where he was met by an officer aiming his pistol at him. Slar dodged the shot by jumping behind a table and before the guard could reload he jumped out and shot a bolt into his chest. Now the controls were his. Slar opened the gate and looked from the window as the landing party charged through it with rifles and swords. Slar ran outside to meet them. To his surprise he found the boatman who had ferried him to the fort in command.

"Alright lads, forward for the king! Forward for Morley!" the boatman was shouting as he waved for his green coated men to charge through the gate. Slar and the boatman fought shoulder to shoulder as a fierce battle for the fort began. Some Morlian soldiers had used climbing ropes to get onto the battlements from the outside and were laying covering fire for their comrades below.

"Slar, you must get the other gate open!" the boatman yelled over the sound of shots and clinging blades. Slar ran onto the battlements killing two guards in the proses, one with a point blank shot from his wristbow to the throat. He recruited two Morlian soldiers to boost him up the three meters high wall to the inner courtyard and threw down a rope for them and three more soldiers to get up from. Slar then led the group down from the battlements and to the gate, fighting off several guards in the proses. Once down, Slar ordered two of the soldiers to open the gate as he and the three other covered them. The two soldiers opened the gate and their comrades stormed through with the boatman at the head of the charge. A firing line of five guards armed with rifles caused some heavy casualties. Slar armed one of his explosive bolts and fired it at the position. The firing line was decimated by the explosion. The ammunition storage was quickly secured with most of the remaining garrison surrendering. Slar and the boatman ran up onto the battery where a lone officer was guarding the guns.

"Blasted rebels and brigands, leave my fort now!" the officer angrily snapped at them.

"Afraid I can't do that sir; this fort now belongs to the Kingdom of Morley." The boatman answered coldly.

The officer angrily raised his gun and fired; he missed Slar and engaged him in a fierce duel. Slar was unable to penetrate his defenses and he struggled to fight him off. The officer charged at the assassin angrily but Slar used his swiftness to dodge and counter his attack by kicking him to the ground to the ground. Slar moved in for the kill but the officer rolled out of the way of the sword and got back on his feet. Slar attacked and the two locked their blades together. The assassin used the advantage to fire a bolt into the officer's leg. Wounded and partially immobilized, the officer limped towards the guns. Slar forced the officer up against the battlements but the officer's fierce and desperate defense didn't leave any openings to attack. Eventually Slar knocked the officer's sword hand against the battlements and cut it off with a swift hack. The officer reached for his gun but Slar stabbed him through the stomach before he could draw it. Stunned, the officer was kicked off the battlements by Slar and fell down into the stormy sea below.

Slar turned and saw the boatman leaning against one of the guns, holding his gut. Slar quickly moved over there and examined the wound. The officer had hit him with the shot intended for Slar.

"It's nothing to worry about, just a flesh wound." The boatman exhaled.

"Now what?" Slar asked. The boatman drew a gun, aimed it at the sky and fired. A bright red flare was shot high into the shy and lit up the stormy night as if it was day. Far out to sea, hundreds of small lanterns were lit accompanied by a thundering chant that overpowered the thunder itself.

"Long live the King! Long live the King!" they chanted. The men of the landing party now in control of the fort took up the chant as they lowered the Imperial banner and raised the royal banner of Morley.

"Oh yeah and by the way, the name's Floyd." The boatman said stretching a hand at the assassin. Slar immediately took his hand and said his name.

"So this is it eh, no way back now mate." Floyd said.

"Indeed." The assassin agreed as they watched the fleet with _The Sins of The Father_ at the head sailed unchallenged into the port of Alba.

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**Author's notes:  
****If you have gotten this far then you have either scrolled down here or actually read the entire thing so if you did the latter, thanks, and if you did the former, also thanks, it still counts as a read. The next chapter should be up in hopefully less time than it took to put this up, no promises though.****  
**


	3. Calm Before the Storm

**A/N: ****Well, what can I say? Let's put it like this; inspiration is like a bitch. And like a bitch inspiration leaves without telling you and then she won't pick up your calls. Then suddenly a few months later she shows up again an then it's happiness for a little while before she slam dunks you into the ground again... let's hope it at least lasts a while this time. So anyways, bitterness aside, please enjoy and remember to review it.**

* * *

The Prince of Morley

Chapter III

Calm Before the Storm

The mighty cry of the cheering people could be heard for miles. The bands were playing the old patriotic tunes and confetti rained from the blue sky. The young man in the white uniform had a big grin on his face as his people lifted him on their shoulders, cheered and praised his name. A feeling of victory was in the air. It was as if a long struggle was finally over and that they had emerged victorious. Alas there were plenty more struggle to come.

Out in the harbor the fleet laid at rest. On board the flagship, _The Sins of The Father_ stood a dark figure hanging over the railing watching the celebrations from a distance. They would never know what role he had played in their liberation. They could never know. His role was one in the shadows. As the Prince basked in the spotlight as the hero and the protector he would sneak in the shadows and pick off the Prince's enemies one by one. Such a role could never be recognized; it wasn't honorable for royalty to use the services of a common assassin, openly at least.

"Looks like His Highness have been received well by the citizens," someone said behind him. The assassin turned around and looked into Floyd's face.

"Yes it seems so," Slar simply answered and turned his head back around. Floyd placed himself next to him and looked out towards the city. "How's your wound?" Slar asked after a while.

"Just fine; just a few sore ribs and a couple of extra scars but other than that I'll be fine," Floyd confidently said. The two continued to watch the celebrations for some time until Floyd broke the silence.

"It's a bit too early for celebrations, eh?" the old sailor asked.

"How so?" the assassin asked back.

"Well, I mean, we took the city and we only had to cut down a few dozen or so redcoats to take it, but it's still a bit early for the celebrations. When we take the capital then we can celebrate, but now we should prepare for the inevitable counterattack that will come our way,"

"Oh this aren't the real celebrations, this is more a show for the nobles,"

"A show?" the old sailor asked puzzled.

"I know nobles, doesn't matter if they're from Gristol, Serkonos or Morley. Nobles tend to side with the ones who is most certain to win. Right now we hold a strategically important city, five thousand trained men under arms and a dozen battle worthy ships backed up by twice the number of smaller crafts, which will either serve as cannon fonder or support crafts. All this in itself is a strong force but our enemies holds at least twice our numbers and within a forthright they will have ten ships of this seize at the ready. This seems like some insurmountable odds, yes, but the Prince is now winning the most important asset a commander can have in a war like this,"

"And what is that?"

"The people. Look at them; they're going mad over that boy! Now that one city has been liberated the rest of the population will start rising up which will force the redcoats to divert their forces or risk losing the cities, and when the aristocracy sees that the Viceroy and the Governor-General can't put down some brat that landed on the their coast their loyalty will soon start to waver,"

"Divide and conquer, I like it." Floyd chuckled. The two stood there watching the celebrations for quite some time after, both pondering on their own thoughts.

The celebrations died down as evening fell, and the Prince gathered his war council in the war room of _The Sins of The Father_ to device their next move. Among the council were several representatives of the local nobility which was there to swear allegiance for the young prince as their king. The council was sitting around the large table in the middle of the room with the map of the Isles on it. The map of the Isles had been removed and in its place a large map of Morley and its surrounding waters had been placed there. The Prince's forces and the Imperial forces were placed around the map, represented by painted tin figures. The Prince sat at the end of the table with his high ranking military commanders closest to him. The Prince rose from his seat to address the audience; the hum of chatter in the room died down as he rose.

"Gentlemen, my lords, I have gathered you here to help formulate the next move in our campaign to restore the Kingdom of Morley and rid our people of the yoke of Imperial oppression," The Prince opened. "Lord McCreary, will you inform us of the situation of the citizen militia of Alba?" A rather corpulent old man with a gray mustache and a monocle wearing a bulging suit rose from his seat,

"We have assembled two thousand men, Your Highness, with another four ready by the end of the week," Lord McCreary answered. "I must however insist on having the city watch stay in the city to maintain order," He continued. The Prince stroke his beard for a moment before he asked,

"How strong is the city watch?"

"Five hundred active officers and guards," The lord answered.

"You will have to do with two, I need every able bodied man that can be mustered,"

"But, my liege, without the full strength of the watch chaos will ensue," The Prince rose from his seat and looked lord McCreary dead in the eyes with stern look.

"Lord McCreary, do I have to remind you that we're at war? The redcoats will certainly muster for a counterattack, and when they do I need everyone, and I mean EVERYONE to be on their post!" The Prince leaned over the table, hunching his back like a tiger ready to strike at its victim and looked right at the frightened lord, who had sunken into his chair.

"Have I made myself understood?" the Prince asked in a determined and intimidatingly dark tone. A whimpering attempt at speaking came from the lord, "HAVE I MADE MYSELF UNDERSTOOD!?" The Prince shouted so load that every noble in the room looked frightened and every military man looked at him in awe and admiration.

"Y-yes, Your Highness, yes." It came stuttering out of the frightened lord's mouth. Floyd chuckled silently to himself at the sight of the terrified noble. Slar, who was standing next to him, briefly glanced at the old sailor with a small smile at the end of his cheek. The Prince recomposed himself and continued.

"Good, now that we have certain logistical problems out of the way, let's continue. Admiral Fairway, what is the status on the fleet?" the Prince asked. Admiral Fairway rose from his seat,

"The fleet is ready, sire. We await your command," The Admiral said loud and clear, like a real military man. The Prince nodded and the Admiral sat back down.

"Then we are ready," the Prince started, "The bulk of the army, six thousand men, will advance with me northwest towards Caulkenny while the remaining one and a half thousand march northeast to liberate Arran." The Prince used his command staff to move the figures of his forces around the map, "The fleet will move ahead and blockade the capital so no reinforcements can be brought from Gristol. With our forces at the gates of their power centrum, they will be forced either stay in the city and starve or come out and fight us in the open,"

"And what if the Imperial Navy breaks through the blockade?" One of the nobles spoke up,

"I know Admiral Charlton, Count O'Coop; he's a brash and impatient man and will undoubtedly sally out to meet us unless he tries to intercept us as we march on the capital. Either way he will fight us in the open." The Prince confidently brushed of the count's concerns. Slar also knew who Admiral Charlton was. Admiral Rickard Charlton was the sitting Governor-General of Morley. Admiral Charlton had an impressive record with several victorious battles on his record. Slar however had talked to several sailors that had sailed under him and they had described the Admiral as a ruthless commander with a total disregard for his own men's safety. After a campaign in Pandyssia he was personally entrusted by the Lord Regent to serve as Governor-General of Morley.

"Is the plan clear to everyone?" the Prince asked, nods and murmurs of agreement was heard from the nobles and commanders around the table. "Then you are all dismissed." The Prince said and at the motion all the nobles started to rise and walk towards the door. Murmuring discussions could be heard from the crowd of nobles as they left the room. Admiral Fairway and the other generals remained and gathered around the Prince to discuss the more in-depth strategies to be applied during the campaign. At this time Slar, who was still standing with Floyd, saw something unfamiliar on the other side of the room. It was a figure that was very rarely seen in the rooms of war; it was a woman's figure. She wore the Morlish green uniform, granted fit for a woman to wear. She wasn't tall but not short either, she had curly scarlet hair and from what Slar could see she was very slim and fit. But what really caught his attention were her eyes. They were green, green like spring grass and deep as the sea itself.

"Commodore Bohanna, could you come over here please?" The Prince asked,

"Yes, Sire," The woman said and marched over to the Prince and stood at attention,

"Commodore Bohanna here led the squadron who repealed the Navy assault last night. Her command was crucial to our victory," The Prince proudly stated to his generals, Slar could see the Commodore starting to blush slightly but she managed to keep her face.

"I only did my duty, Sire," She said forcefully, like a true sailor,

"I know, I know. Thank you, commodore, you're dismissed, you should go tend to your men," The Prince said,

"Yes, Sire." She turned on the point and marched towards the exit. Slar followed her with his eyes as she walked out.

"He he, don't think I didn't see ya looking at her you sly bastard," Floyd chuckled quietly so not to disturb the Prince and his generals. Slar simply turned his head towards him, smiled and said,

"I don't know what you're talking about you old fool,"

"Say whatever you want but you have to admit it, Mari's a fine lass. Come on; let's give the big guys some peace and quiet," Slar and Floyd let the room and went into the hallway. "I'm going to go get a drink, want to join?" Floyd asked,

"Thanks but no thanks, I'm going to go wind down in my quarters." Slar answered,

"Suit yourself; I'll see you tomorrow, Slar." With that they went their separate ways, Floyd went to join his drinking buddies on deck and Slar headed down the stairs to the officers' quarters. Slar made his way through the dimly light corridor to his quarters. He got into his quarters and light an oil lamp so he could see better in the dim light from the porthole. He then proceeded to take his wristbow out of his out of the trunk to clean and maintain it. He had never had problems with his wristbow and he credited that to the sturdy design and his own maintenances. He always made sure that every string were attached, that all the mechanisms functioned smoothly and that all the parts was properly placed. After he was satisfied that his wristbow functioned properly he found a whetstone and started to sharpen his blades. After sharpening his sword and all his knifes and daggers he pulled a hair out of his head and dropped it on the sword. The hair would naturally miss but he figured it was worth a try. As he expected the hair floated a mile away from the sword, so with a slightly disappointed sigh he sheeted his sword, undressed and went to bed.

* * *

Slar woke up drowsy as usual. He had never been much of a morning person but this day he felt especially tired. He finally managed to force himself out of bed after failing to do so three times. Coffee, he thought and put on his booths and a vest so he didn't have to walk to the officer mess dressed only in his pants. Before going to the door, he looked out of the porthole. It was only a dim gray light he could see so he figured it was still early. Slar slapped himself in the face so he could at least look a bit awake and walked to the door. When he opened it he was greeted by a very bright light that blinded him. When he regained his sight he got the biggest surprise of his life. Instead of seeing the hallway in the officers' quarters he saw a huge blue space that seemed to extend into the infinite. In front of him there was a narrow cobblestone passage which lead towards what looked like the deck of a ship,

"What the…?" he whispered to himself as he looked at the vast expanse, and as if possessed, Slar started to walk down the passage. Around him there were bits and pieces of random stuff seemingly floating in the space around him; crates, cannons, buoys and even parts of buildings to name a few, it was as if they were part of some strange collection. Slar just looked at the objects floating around him with his jaw dropped as close to the floor as humanly possible. Before he realized that he had gotten all the way over to the deck at the end of the passage. The deck only looked like the middle of the ship, with its bow and stern seemingly been broken off.

"Hello, Slar." A voice as calm and haunting like the morning fog uttered behind him. The voice startled Slar and caused him to turn around with a faster movement than that of a jaguar. Behind him was a young man dressed in a brown coat. He looked normal apart from one terrifying detail; his eyes, they were black; black like the darkest darkness he had ever seen.

"What… who… where…?" Slar started, but was unable to form coherent sentences,

"Your life has taken a turn has it not?" The man continued, not even bothering explain where he was or what was happening to Slar,

"What turn? What are you talking about?" Slar finally managed to say, he had never been this confused before.

"I am the one who observes; who sees all things, even before it happens," the black-eyed phantom continued

"You are…" Slar started but the phantom cut him off before he could finish his sentence,

"I am the Outsider," Slar nearly fell over; he now understood where he was and who he was talking to. "And because of the events that will transpire in the coming days I have brought you here to the Void," The Outsider said; the situation had started to sink in for Slar,

"And for what purpose did you bring me here?" Slar asked.

"To bestow upon you something that very few possess,"

"And what's that?" Slar asked, but before he could say or do anything more the Outsider grabbed his left hand and immediately he felt a burning itch that sent shock waves through his entire body. When the Outsider finally released his hand a mark was left on the palm. He had seen similar tattoos on sailors but not quite like this one. After stretching his fingers to make sure that everything works and inspecting the rest of his hand in disbelief, he turned his gaze towards the Outsider. The black eyed entity offered a sly and devious smile.

"My mark, consider it a gift," he said, and before Slar could ask, a complete and total darkness struck him and he fell unconscious.

* * *

Slar woke up in his bed; he immediately rose up to a sitting position, panting. It was like waking up from a bad dream, but a quick look at the palm of his hand confirmed his fears; it had been no dream. For some inexplicable reason the only thing he could think about was to get a cup of coffee. Slar rose up and got dressed again. Before he opened the door to the hallway he stopped and prayed that the hallway would be what he found on the other side of the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath and swung it open. He let out a sigh of relief when what he found was nothing more than the door of lieutenant Phillips quarters. He closed the door behind him, turned right and started to walk down the hall towards the officer mess. It must still have been very early because there was almost no one in the mess, only a few officers who had just gotten off the night shift that had visited the mess to get some food before they crashed. The friendly cook, Martin was his name, stood behind the counter, like a bartender, and asked what Slar wanted. Slar simply answered with the word coffee and before he knew it he had a cup of the warm beverage between his numb fingers. After thanking the cook, he sat down on the table across the middle aisle from the half sleeping officers,

"Have you heard of what has happen in Dunwall?" one of the officers asked the others, desperately trying to keep the conversation going,

"I swear, Morris, if this is about that fucking bodyguard busting out of Coldridge, I swear I'm gonna…" one of the other officers said in a clearly irritated tone, but before he could say anything more, he was cut off by the other officer.

"No it's not about that, you idiot" he angrily exclaimed. "It's about High Overseer Campbell, he's been branded," he continued.

"Branded huh, well there you can see; even the highest and the mightiest can fall down and hit the pavement," the other officer said laughing.

"In this case he hit the pavement very hard." the third officer said and the clearly overtired officers started to laugh uncontrollably, like a group of drunks at a pub. After the frantic laughter eventually died down they decided that it would be best for them to go lay down. The trio of overtired officers stumbled down the aisle to the exit to find their quarters and kept laughing at jokes that they normally wouldn't even exhale a small amount of air out their nostrils at their normal state. Slar didn't pay much attention to them; he simply sat in silence and sipped from his coffee. His thoughts wandered towards the strange mark on the back of his hand and he wondered what it meant. The Outsider had said it was a 'gift', it was however yet to be seen if this mark was anything more than a stylish tattoo.

Slar finished his coffee, thanked the cook again and placed the empty cup on the counter. Instead of heading back to his quarters, Slar decided he would go to the top deck to get some fresh air. The hallway was again quiet after the trio of officers had stumbled into their own quarters. Slar walked by a half closed door on the right side of the hallway. Out of curiosity he perched in to see one of the officers from the mess lying on the floor snoring. Slar closed the door so the officer's snoring wouldn't disturb anyone and so the aforementioned officer could get some peaceful, albeit uncomfortable rest. Slar continued on his way and got up on deck in no time. Upon getting on deck he took a long, deep breath of the fresh sea air, Alba was no industrial city like Dunwall so the air out here was pure and relaxing. He went over to the railing to observe the harbor. There was little activity; most people were still in the process of waking up, only the early morning watches on the ships were awake. Just across the harbor to the east where the protective cliffs were, one could see the clear outline of the sun rising.

"Beautiful, is it not?" a familiar voice came from his left. Slar turned his head towards the voice and saw the Prince leaning on the railing of the command deck. Instead of his white uniform he was wearing something more acing to a sailor's uniform, with baggy pants and a white blouse and all, he was even barefoot.

"It sure is, Your Highness," Slar answered,

"You don't have to be so formal when no one's around, Slar," the Prince said back in a bemused tone,

"What should I call you then?" the assassin asked as he walked up the stairs to the command deck, the Prince only chuckled and shook his head,

"Little Liam, the old mates used to call me," the Prince said with a hint of fond nostalgia in his voice, "Little Liam," he repeated to himself with a smile on his face. Slar leaned against the railing next to the Prince and started to look at the sunrise as well. "You know, I served on a pirate ship when I was a kid, good men," the Prince said after a long pause.

"That's the first time I've heard that from a royal exile," Slar confessed, "Liam the powder monkey," he said with a chuckle. The Prince looked at him with a stern face before he collapsed into laughter,

"Liam the powder monkey," the Prince wheezed through the laughter. The Prince recomposed himself before he continued, "I did something like a monkey though, I used to climb the rigging like one," he said proudly while looking up on the rigging of the ship.

"Well, let's see if you still got it then." The assassin said and without another word he was up in the rigging with the Prince in hot pursuit. Despite his head start the Prince gained on him in no time. Before he knew it the Prince was past him. Damn, he thought, that kid can really climb. Slar looked past the Prince's fast moving body and towards the top where the crow's nest on the middle part of the mast. I wish I could up there faster, he thought and with a whoosh he was up there. Slar looked around confused; how did he get up here? As he franticly looked around he noticed that the mark on his hand was glowing, and it brought a smile to his face. He looked down and saw the Prince still climbing towards the top.

"It seems like I still got it, Sla…" the Prince was cut off from saying anymore because when his hand was about to grab the edge of the crow's nest, someone grabbed his hand. The shocked Prince looked up to see Slar holding his hand with a sly look on his face.

"How the…?" the Prince uttered through his shock and looked behind him to check if Slar was behind him or not,

"Trade secrets, Sire," Slar said as he pulled the Prince up on the crow's nest,

"I didn't even see you pass me, you must truly be a master of stealth," the Prince exclaimed, he was still confused but it didn't matter at the time. The two stood up there on the crow's nest and watched as the bright rays of the sun covered the city like paint on a canvas.

"We're leaving today, aren't we?" Slar asked,

"Yes we are." the Prince answered. The two remained up there and watched as the people of the city of Alba started to go about their daily life. Down the main road a column of soldiers could be seen with their rifles over their shoulders and their bayonets glimmering in the sun. As Slar looked at the soldiers march in the distance he looked at the mark, it was no longer glowing but he could feel the power of it flow through his body. He thought of the Outsider's words and agreed that this could indeed become interesting.

* * *

**A/N: not much action this time, but just wait there will be more coming.**


	4. Winds of War

The Prince of Morley

Chapter IV

Winds of War

When marching, it's not the enemy you have to worry about; it's the land itself, an old general had once told Slar, and now he understood why. The rain, by the Outsider's eyes, the rain, it just kept pouring down. It never ended, no pause, just with varying degrees of intensity. And because of the rain, the roads turned into virtual rivers of mud. Trying to get a wagon down this road would be hard enough, but when you have to maneuver an entire army down it, it creates a logistical obstacle that even the greatest of generals would have difficulties to overcome. Slar was only thankful that he was on a horse and not one of the heavily armed and equipped soldiers who had to stumble through mud up to their ankles. Slar rode alongside the column of soldiers on the road; several of the soldiers had to help push the bull towed wagons through the mud.

"Ah shit! How the fuck are we supposed to get this stuff moving when the fucking road disappear!?" A frustrated soldier gave up on pushing the wagon, threw his cap into the mud and angrily kicked the wagon. Upon kicking the wagon, the soldier slipped and fell back down into the mud, the soldier got up with an exhausted look on his face before falling on his knees and call out a mighty cry of frustration. The other soldiers helped him up and tried to comfort him with words of encouragement, but the soldier simply picked up his mud socked cap and continued to push. Slar continued along the road and gazed at the column of wet and muddy soldiers as he made his way towards the head of the column. At the head of the column the officers were riding right in front of the cavalry units, they were wet but at least not muddy. At the very head the Prince rode on a chestnut colored horse. The Prince wasn't wearing his signature white uniform though; he was wearing the Morlish green officer uniform with the cap of a normal soldier in place of the more distinct and decorated officers' cap.

The Prince rode off from the head with his entourage of aides and officers trailing after him. He rode towards a hill ahead of the column so to better observe his struggling army advance up the poor excuse for a road. The Prince looked at Slar who was still riding along the column. The Prince's face was as stern and determined as ever. The two shared gazes for a few moments before the Prince threw his head back to signal him to come over to him. Slar looked back at the muddy soldiers before he started to gallop over the field towards the Prince. As he got closer he could see a hint of remorse and compassion in the Prince's face as he gazed over his poor soldiers. Slar galloped over to the assembly on the hillside, the Prince had shifted his gaze towards him while ignoring the loud chatter of his entourage behind him. Slar rode up to in front of the Prince and bowed his head respectfully before speaking.

"I don't think the men can go much further, we have to make camp soon," Slar said loudly through the rain.

"We are almost at our destination, they just have to hang on a few more miles," the Prince said equally loud.

"With respect, Your Highness, where are we going?" Slar asked. The Prince simply smiled and gesticulated for him to follow. The two rode through the Prince's entourage, who fell in behind them, and started to ride to the top of the hill. The Prince got to the top of the hill first with Slar and the entourage trailing right after him. The group of riders gazed out over a large open field, typical to the coastal region of Morley. In the far distance on a hill dominating the landscape there was a majestic castle. The castle was essentially a huge multistory gray stone building with towers on each of the corners. The main keep was in the center of a large courtyard surrounded by high walls. At the foot of the hill there was a large town that Slar could see from a distance was sprawling with life. Slar looked at the Prince who looked at him in return.

"That is our destination." The Prince said with a clever, triumphant smile on his face.

* * *

The men had been settled into the town, there were no military forces stationed here and the noble that owned the castle had fled to the capital as soon as word reached him that Prince Liam O'Judge and his army was on the move. The Prince and his army was greeted by the people of the town, like in Alba, as heroes and the Prince made sure that his men behaved themselves properly towards the denizens. Most of the soldiers were quartered into various establishments, volunteered housing, barns and barracks around the town, the Prince thought that the men needed a good and not to mention dry night's sleep.

The high ranking officers were quartered at the castle. The castle was large and old, and most of its amenities, arts and wealth was still there; the local landlord had only had limited time to escape and didn't bring much with him. The Prince had personally seen to inspect the entirety of castle's halls and rooms; the young prince explored the castle with great interest. Slar had seen the eagerness in the Prince to run around like a school boy and touch and look at everything with a floor dropped jaw, but he retained his characteristic dignified and calm attitude in front of his subordinates. The Prince was especially interested in the vast amount of paintings, portraits and tapestries, depicting battles and other important historical events often studying them for long time while thoughtfully stroking his beard, almost like a museum goer.

After a long day of settling in the castle, something Slar found strange since they were on a campaign and still far from the capital, Slar retreated to his room. Slar had asked for a simple room but he should have known that the word "simple" is very different in castle terms. His room was nominally big complete with a big comfortable bed, a small lounge with stylish chairs and a coffee table, a big desk with many drawers and even an electric table lamp. There was even a small fireplace that Slar had fired up earlier to warm up the cold and drafty room he had been entitled. Slar did his usual routine of checking and maintaining his gear, but after he was done his mind wandered back to the mark on the back of his hand. The strange teleporting trick had put a stuck into him and he had tried to put the entire ordeal out of his head. But how could he? The mark and the incredible powers that it granted were too much to simply be ignored.

After a time of pondering he decided that he should seek more information on the mark and the powers it granted, and found that a good place to start would probably be the castle's extensive library. The library was the single biggest private collection of books that Slar had ever seen; almost the entire wall of the room was draped in books (considering that the room was very big and it was almost 6 meters between the floor and the ceiling), except for a few places where paintings hung and a spot where a large fireplace was situated. The library was on the same floor as Slar's room so Slar left his room for it. The library was only a few corridors away and Slar covered the ground in no time.

When he got to the library he noticed that there were people inside, he saw them through the cracked door. He didn't know why, perhaps it was instinct, but he felt he had to enter the room silently. He convinced himself that he shouldn't disturb whoever was inside but felt that he also needed the practice. Slar observed the hinges of the door and saw that the hinges were rusty and would undoubtedly screech if he tried to open the door. He looked around the corridor for options; the window? No, too dangerous to go out on a slippery ledge in the rain. He could go around and go in through the other door but that would take too long and it was a good possibility that the hinges there were rusty there too. Then he saw it, the means of getting in unnoticed, an air vent right above the door. Well, right above, more like one and a half meter above; just too high to get there just by jumping. He could always just jump between the walls to climb up quickly but he taught he should do it a tad bit differently this time. He fixed his sight on the air vent, focused and thought himself there; and so with a whoosh he was there, holding the grill. He removed the grill and crawled in, before crawling any further he carefully placed the grill back in its place. Now, forward, the vent was a tight fit but a fit none the less; Slar crawled forward and got himself to the down facing grill on the other side of the wall. Again, Slar removed the grill carefully and jumped down. He was careful to not hit the ground, lets he'd make a loud thud. He latched onto a bookshelf, which was thankfully screwed to the wall and carefully let go and landed silently. Slar was in the dark part of the room, only the fireplace was light. It was from the fireplace that the voices came from, and Slar could now see who it was; it was the Prince and one of his generals.

"…the fleet have also moved into the Straight of Morley and have initiated the blockade on Caulkenny, no Imperial response has come as of yet," The General reported to the Prince who was standing by the fireplace, thoughtfully stroking his beard.

"And what of the Imperial army, how far away are they?" The Prince asked.

"Our scouts are reporting that they are just a two day's march from here, Sire," The General answered again. The Prince kept stroking his beard and stared into the fire.

"What of their strength?"

"Ten thousand at the very least," The General answered with a hint of despair in his voice, "Your Highness, I'm not sure how we could beat such an army, they may have even double our number," he continued, the despair in his voice getting heavier now.

"The numerical differences are marginal when compared to our advantages," the Prince simply answered. "We have this town, a vital resting place for our soldiers, and we being the defenders have the privilege of choosing where to stand, and that bridge over there," the Prince pointed out the window, "is the only passable crossing of the entire river this time of year. And just look at this weather and what it did to our troops, their troops will be in just as bad, if even worse, condition that our troops were in by the time they get here. We have also at the very least one full day and at the very most two to prepare ourselves with. Our troops will be fresh by then." The Prince concluded. The General bowed his head in shame and expected to be bereted by the Prince for his desperation, but the Prince instead laid his hand gently on his shoulder and looked him sympathetically in the eyes.

"Look, Jon, I know you worry but you have to hold it together now, I need you, we need you," the Prince said softly with a compassionate smile.

"Yes, Sire, I will," he straightened up and said. The Prince shook his shoulder and said,

"Good, now give me the report on Arran," the Prince said more sternly and officially, becoming his usual self again.

"The situation was hard to begin with, Imperial forces held the city hostage to begin with but our forces managed to…" The General's voice faded out from Slar's hearing as he started to look through the books on the shelves. The great collection of books was awe inspiring, and Slar had no idea where to start. To the Void with it, he thought and started reading book titles of the row he was looking at. _The Great Families of Morley, the Unification of Tyvia, the History of Naval Voyaging and Navigation, Call of the Spheres (_all three volumes of it)_, the Great Battles of the Isles,_ _the Sayings of the Overseer_,_ the History of Natural Philosophy,_ etc. etc. It went on like this until he finally found something that caught his interest, _the Metaphysika Mysterium_; it might just be what he was looking for. But in his excitement, Slar pulled the book out to fast and lost his grip around the large book, so it fell to the ground with a loud bang without him being able to catch it. This of course alarmed the two standing by the fireplace; the Prince turned and the General drew his saber to defend his prince.

"Who goes there, show yourself!" The General shouted as gruffly and intimidatingly as possible. What did he mean, Slar though, they were looking straight at him, but for some reason they couldn't see him, and it wasn't that dark either so they should have been able to see him from where they were standing. Then Slar noticed it; his body had practically turned into a fog with the outlines of his frame just barely visible, he had essentially become one with the darkness. The General looked around the room, keeping the Prince protectively behind him. He peered into corners and studied the ceiling but he couldn't see anything. Slar understood that this was one of the mark's powers and moved away from the two by the fireplace so he could figure out how to undo his "cloak". In the darkest corner of the room he ordered the mark to undo the shadow cloak, as he decided to call it, and it was so.

"Lower your weapon, General, I am no threat," Slar said from the shadows.

"Slar is that you, what are you doing here?" the Prince asked confused.

"Just looking for something to read, Your Highness," Slar answered honestly, in a way.

"Then why didn't you let your presence be known?" the Prince asked again.

"I didn't want to disturb you, Your Highness," Slar answered, but the Prince looked skeptical and the General looked down right distrusting.

"He must have been spying on us, Your Highness, he is certainly a traitor," the General said to the Prince. The Prince looked thoughtful as he stood there stroking his beard.

"General Woerr, leave us," the Prince said in the end to the General.

"But, Sire…" General Woerr started but the Prince cut him off and repeated his order, reassuringly touching the handle of his sword, after which Woerr obediently left, but not before offering a distrustful look to Slar.

"Get over here, Slar I want to talk to you. Oh, and bring that book you found," the Prince ordered Slar as General Woerr left the room. Slar obediently went and picked up the book before going over to the Prince who was waiting by the fireplace. The Prince was studying him up and down; looking at him very thoughtfully. "Show me that book," he said and Slar obediently handed the book over to the Prince. The Prince looked at the cover, "_The Metaphysika Mysterium,"_ he said surprised and started to skimmer through some of the pages. After quickly reading a paragraph he handed the book back to Slar, "A strange choice," he said in slightly distrusting tone.

"I liked the title," Slar said blankly. The Prince must have found it amusing because he started to chuckle a bit.

"Well, it's hard not to," the Prince admitted. "Please sit down," the Prince said, pointing at one of the chairs by the fire. They both sat down; the Prince kept studying Slar, as if he was searching for something attached to his coat. The Prince eventually stopped studying him and instead turned his gaze toward the fire. "Do you know the history of this castle?" the Prince asked, still looking into the fire.

"No," Slar answered slightly confused by the question.

"Hundreds of years ago, a lord built a small wooden castle on this hill, and he didn't simply build it here because he liked the scenery; that bridge down on the river is the only passable crossing for hundreds of miles in any direction. And since he controlled the land including that bridge he could exact a toll of any traveler passing by. And so his castle grew at the same rate as his wealth; and where there is wealth, leaches will of course follow. That town down there grew as well as it became the most important transit spot between Alba and Caulkenny. Merchants, courtesans and traveling conmen all found there place down there. But even as wealth poured over them, the lords of this castle remained as just and honest as the great man who founded their House. Whenever there was a dispute or criminals to be sentenced, they would be brought up here to the courtyard where the lord would pass judgment. And so the hill and the castle that stood on it were named by the inhabitants of the town, _Haug'O Breitihùnas_ or Judgment Hill." The Prince stopped his speech to stare at a portrait. While the man in the portrait had dark blond hair and was clean shaved, Slar recognized the eyes, the greenish hazel colored eyes. Slar looked at the Prince just to be sure and the Prince met his gaze and it confirmed his suspicion, the Prince smiled, "And of course the family that ruled this land named their house after their castle; and as centuries past by, the name eventually became O'Judge." The Prince said, so as to confirm the suspicion that was plastered all over the assassin's face.

"So a strategically important location wasn't the only reason to take this castle?" Slar asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"No, not quite," The Prince answered with a smile.

After that, Slar made his leave and went back to his room with the book. Even though it was late, Slar decided that he should start reading it then and there. He sat down by the small fireplace and started to read the book. The book had been written by a disgraced Overseer who had researched too much into the forbidden practices and had been subsequently burned at the stake as a heretic. The book described that the Outsider probably chose specific individuals to bestow on specific powers and that they were the primary source for the many supernatural phenomenon that occurred in the world. The book also described several powers that marked ones reportedly possessed including; increased stamina and health, the ability to see in total darkness and through walls, the ability to possess other living beings and control their will, and, though Slar found even more outlandish, the ability to completely stop time for a short period. The book went on to describe several hypotheses and theories about the physical, sociological and mathematical reasons for the existence of these supernatural powers although Slar understood little of it. Slar looked at his pocket watch and realized that the time had already past two in the morning and decided to go to bed. He figured that he should probably just learn by doing. Before falling asleep he laughed at the idea of actually stopping time.

* * *

"Move it, you little shits!" the gold masked man snapped at them; the exhausted children refused, however, to walk any further. The gold mask spouted out threats of all kind including pointing at the leather whip in his hand, menacingly brushing it along the ground. The boy with the steely gray eyes stared at him with exhausted contempt which the gold mask intercepted. The gold mask started to yell at him with utmost anger and excessive language, but the boy refused to break his stare. The gold mask finally lost his temper and lashed out violently with his whip against the children. The children winced in pain and started running but the gray eyed boy just covered his face with his arms until the gold mask stopped whipping. "Oh, so you still refuse to move, don't you, ghost eyes? You know, I'm sure the Outsider himself might have given you those eyes, perhaps I should cut them out!?" the gold mask rambled on menacingly while waiving a sharp knife in front of him. The gold mask grasped around the boy's hair and yanked his head back. He put his knife just hairs away from the boy's eye. Even though the mask hid the assailants face, the boy knew that a sickly sadistic smile lay beneath it. He stared fearlessly into the eye he could just see through the mask's porthole and saw the deep madness dwelling within the fiend's soul.

"Knock it off, Cilas," an annoyed voice could be heard saying behind the malicious masked madman. The gold mask turned his head and the boy could see another one of the gold masks standing there.

"The boy's eyes are touched by the Outsider," the masked madman rambled on to his brother before turning back to the boy, "He can see us through him, he will attract our gazes and corrupt us," the madman said while staring right into the petrified boy's eyes, it was as if he was staring straight into his soul, "And the only way to ensure that that don't happen is to cut away the eyes," he said while gently rolling his knife just above the boy's eye.

"That's enough, Cilas!" The gold mask behind him yelled, "You know what Grand Overseer Pypar said will happen if more boys turn up blind, now let that poor boy go!" he ordered loudly. The masked madman stared at the boy for a few tense moments before relenting with a sigh and put the knife away from the boy's face. He stood up and started to walk away but stopped right up in his brother's face,

"One day, the others won't be watching," he whispered blankly and coldly before he resumed his walk. The boy, almost forgetting who these men were, looked up at his rescuer with stunned gratitude; his thanks, however, drowned in his throat when he met the man's gaze.

"Go on, boy, catch up with the rest." He said sternly, but straight after gave the boy a friendly nod. The boy imagined the man smiling behind his gold mask as he ran to catch up with the rest of the boys.

As night fell the caravan made camp. The boys were huddled close together in rows on the grass field right off the road. The gray eyed boy couldn't sleep however, how could he? Even though he was exhausted he just couldn't fall asleep. The events of the past few days seeped into his mind like a cancer; seeing his village burn, his sister dying in his arms, almost losing his eyes to a madman, all this destroyed his ability to sleep. He simply laid there staring at the stars, searching for the answers to why it all happened deep within the cosmos. He remembered many nights staring at the stars with his sister; they joked around and drew out their own constellations from the stars and even gave them names. They had even acquired a book from a traveling merchant that stopped by the village. The book described and illustrated many of the constellations; some, whom they found out, they already had discovered and given them different names. It pained him deep down in his soul that she was gone, that his entire family was gone. How could it have happened anyway, how can so many people just die, just vanish with no proof that they actually existed in the first place, in just a blink of an eye?

He strangled the tears that had snuck their way to the corner of his eye, closed them as hard as he could and tried to clear his head of everything, just everything, he tried as hard as he could for it to simply be him alone in the darkness, nothing more. But it was a fool's errand; how could he possibly be able to simply forget so much? It was impossible, he could just as well try to stop a tornado with his bare hands or swim through a storm on the open sea. The end result would inevitably be the same, instead of getting rid of the pain, it would consume him whole, and nothing would be left of him but hate, bitterness and resentment, the most primal feelings of humanity he reckoned, what else could keep a man going but the desire for revenge and justice. That would be his promise, his vow, he would kill them all, every single one of them would die by his cold steel blade, and the last thing they would see was his cold gray eyes fueled by hatred and desire for retribution. He would kill them all, he would kill them all.

With stern grit and renewed determination he opened his eyes to a sight no one would want to wake up to. A cold steel knife sharpened and polished so much he could see his own warped reflection in it, almost resting against his eye. He moved his shocked gaze to see the face of a man with bright red curly hair, chiseled sideburns and the broadest, maddest and most horrific smile he had ever seen. And of course the eyes, no one else in the entire world possessed such eyes. The pale yellow color shone with the bright flame of utter madness. If he was to live past that night, if he was to grow old, long past after he had forgotten his own mother's name, he would remember those eyes to the day he died. When his last breath sighed out of his lungs and his eyelids grew tired and heavy, the last thing that would flash before him was those evil eyes he taught.

"Hey there, remember me?" he whispered with a voice so dead, cold and cruel it felt almost surreal. Then Cilas raised his knife and lunged it down at him.


End file.
